


Not so pretty now

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Chester Bennington looks better in a dress than I do god damnit, M/M, girl!Chester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their first date Chester shows Mike how to get discount on designer dresses without stealing anything</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not so pretty now

**Author's Note:**

> Better turn the lights down low, the cracks begin to show. We all love you anyhow.

On their first date Chester shows Mike how to get discount on designer dresses without stealing anything. They both crowd into the tiny changing room, forcing the door closed and hanging up the clothes on the wall. Mike presses himself flat against the mirror and they still brush elbows every time Chester moves. Pinching the hem of one dress between his fingers and the zipper in the other he smiles, tugs the zipper down hard until the dress tears.

Mike stares, gobsmacked. Whispers, "That dress is six hundred dollars."

Chester grins and it's almost predatorial. "I know."

Mike continues to stare as Chester bundles the dress in his arms and leaves the changing room, calling for an attendant.

"This dress," he says, "is this the last one in this size?"

"I'm sorry, sir, we only have what is on show."

Mike can't see from where he stands, hidden behind the changing room door, but from the sounds of it Chester's acting skills are superb.

"Oh," Chester says, disappointedly. "It has a tear, right here. And I mean...it's six hundred bucks and it's torn?"

There's a moment of silence. This could go either way. But then the attendant goes, "I'll ask my manager."

Back in the changing room Mike raises and eyebrow and Chester rolls his eyes as he unbuttons his shirt. "That dress," he says quietly, "is almost out of season. In a week nobody will be willing to pay six hundred for it and it'll go to one of those outlet malls. If they reduce it for me now because of the tear it'll be a real bargain for me and a sweet deal for them. The outlet malls give them less than half for the stuff they buy then still sell it for more than I'll pay today."

"That's if they reduce it," Mike points out.

Chester opens his mouth to say something else but the attendant is on the other side of the door calling "Sir?"

He opens the door and smiles pleasantly as he makes a show of buttoning up his shirt to make it look as if he tried something on. The attendant smiles back, "We can reduce it to four fifty. You know, because of the tear."

Chester nods, looks pleased with himself until Mike steps out from behind the door and tugs on his hand. "Honey, do not pay four fifty for that dress. It has a rip, don't waste your money." Chester glares at him but Mike narrows his eyes, continues, "I forbid you to spend that much on a ruined dress."

The attendant looks between them urgently and swallows hard. "Three hundred," he says, "I really can't let it go for less than three hundred."

"That's...wow," Chester says and glances back at Mike. "Does that sound like less of a waste of money, sweetie?"

Mike smiles, nods to the attendant. "Thank you. He forgets sometimes we don't have a money tree in the back yard."

"Oh tell me about it," the attendant says, sympathetically, "sometimes I think my paycheque won't stretch from month to month. I'll go put this behind the register," he says, torn dress in hand.

When he has gone Chester spins round and stares at Mike, hard. "That could have gone wrong."

"Yeah," Mike shrugs, "but really it was always going to go our way."

They both smile, trying not to laugh. They gather up the other dresses Chester had no intention of ever buying and take them out with them, walking hand in hand.

***

On their second date Chester meets Mike at the door of his apartment in a little black dress with matching wedge heels. His wig his platinum blonde and falls in loose curls past his shoulder blades. He looks astonishingly beautiful and Mike says, "What should I call you?"

"Chester," he says, looking bemused. "Only drag queens have fake names, Mike."

He steps back and Mike follows him in. In his wedges he is tall enough for Mike to have to look up at him but not so tall he is giving the game away. Between the makeup, the dress, the wig, the only thing giving Chester away is his voice. And his name.

"Yeah but if you're supposed to be my girlfriend..."

Chester smiles, clips his clutch purse closed and slips it under his arm. One manicured hand on his hip, the other nursing a cigarette, he says, "You'll understand eventually."

***

Their third date is really just their second date over-running into the next day. After they went out to dinner they hit Phase Eight, a dance club Mike had never heard of where nobody looked at them twice and the music was made for dancing and the drinks burned all the way to his stomach with every sip.

Mike wakes up before Chester and watches him sleep. It wasn't their first date so it shouldn't be such a big deal that they want all the way, but Mike still feels a weird giddy feeling in his stomach like he has done something wrong. After they had sex they both fell asleep, Chester still wearing the wedge heels Mike insisted he keep on, a face full of makeup and his wig. His eyeshadow is smudged and his wig is a mess but he looks adorable.

Creeping out of bed quietly Mike tip-toes out of the room in his boxers and across the hall to the kitchen where he starts rummaging through the cupboards. His last couple of conquests have been recent divorcees with nothing in their cupboards but Valium and vodka but Chester not only has a fully stocked fridge but also eggs and pancake batter.

He makes breakfast and hums a tune to himself that he is pretty sure he heard the night before. It's all pretty much done when Chester shuffles into the kitchen wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and a shy smile.

"People don't usually stick around to make me breakfast in the morning," he says, turning on the coffee machine.

"I'm not people," Mike shrugs, setting the table.

They eat breakfast with the radio playing in the background and Chester goes "I wanted to be a singer when I was a kid."

Around a mouthful of eggs Mike says, "What's stopping you?"

And Chester says, "Gender dysphoria."

***

For his birthday Mike paints a picture of Chester is a floor length ball gown, his feet peeking out from under the folds of the material in shiny, black heels. His hair is the same as his platinum blonde wig but it is poker straight. His makeup is smokey and he his smirking, his lips tinged red.

When he unwraps it he stares at it for a while and then looks up at Mike from where he sits on the couch, stunned.

"It's...there's something on the other side, too."

Chester wordlessly turns the painting over in his hands. On the reverse is a painting of him in a loose, grey T-shirt with baggy, washed-out jeans slung low on his hips. His hands are dug into his pockets and he has a smirk playing on his lips, his lip ring glinting in the light. He has on his glasses and behind them his eyes are twinkling.

"For whoever you wake up as," Mike says.

Chester stares at him, tears glistening in his eyes. He smiles and opens his mouth to speak but doesn't know what to say.

"I love you," Mike says, smiling nervously. "In sweats or a dress, I love you."

Chester doesn't say anything for a while. When he eventually finds his voice through the tears he says, "I love you, too."

***

Chester can't hold down a job. When they met he was working at a restaurant where millionaires and bahzillionaires ate dinner and the tip was included in the price of the meal so they treat the waiters like shit. Worse than shit, really, and every night Chester spent putting expensive champagne into ice buckets was another night he'd come home and pull every single dress from his closet and dump them in the middle of the bedroom floor whilst Mike sat on the bed watching.

"This isn't going to solve anything."

"They treat the girls worse than the guys. I heard what they were saying about them. And gender specific uniform...jeez..."

After that he goes for an interview at a bar in a sharp pencil skirt and fitted blouse but doesn't get the job because it 'isn't that kind of place.' When he gets home he sits in the back yard on the grass, a cigarette between his fingers. Even a mess like this he sits gracefully, careful not to ladder his pantyhose or split his skirt. Mike finds him there long after the sun went down and sits beside him, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"It'll be okay, Chester," he says and kisses his cheek softly.

"I can't pay the rent, Mike. It's not going to be okay."

Mike smiles. "Then I'll move in," he says. "I can pay the rent. And I will. All of it. Until you get a job you want to stay in for a while."

Chester pulls away and stares at him, blinks. "I can't ask you to do that. I mean...I want you to move in. That'd be fucking amazing but...you can't pay for me like that."

"But I want to. With the money I make at the design studio...I don't have a car to pay for or anything. It's not such a big deal."

They sit side by side for a while in silence, until Chester finds his voice and says, "Thank you."

Mike just squeezes his shoulder gently and says, "will you keep that skirt on later when I fuck you?"

***

When they get married Chester wears a sharp, black suit with a blood-red tie and shiny cuff links. They'd spent so much time looking at wedding dresses that Mike is surprised to see him, standing in front of their friends and family in something other than the thousand dollar Alexander McQueen numbers Chester had drooling over for months.

He looks so handsome. Mike's heart flutters in his chest the way it did after their first night together. The unknown and the desire and the love and the want, want, want all combined. His stomach is in knots and he twists his engagement ring around his finger nervously as he walks the aisle. Everybody smiles at him, including Chester, as he approaches the front. There isn't a dry eye in the house, his included.

When he stands beside Chester they both grin, tangle their fingers together and wipe away their tears with the other hand. Mike isn't sure what to do with himself. He's never felt this happy. He feels worried, but be knows it doesn't matter - this is what was always meant to happen.

That night in their hotel suite paid for by Mike's mom and dad who forked over the money on exchange for a promise that they'd not have to come to, what they called, "the affair."

"It's my wedding, mom," Mike had said, staring her down.

"It's not really a the same thing as a wedding, Michael."

The bed is huge and they tumble onto it with a collective sigh. Pushing his hands under Chester's baby doll nighty Mike presses kisses to his neck and smiles.

"Did you rip this for a reduction?"

Chester laughs, sighs, laughs again. "Would you think less of me if I said 'yes'?"

"So you did, then," Mike laughs and kisses his way up Chester's thigh slowly.

Arching his back, pushing his hips up as Mike moves his lips higher Chester says "it was supposed to be eighty bucks, with the stockings and all."

***

In the morning Chester stays in bed whilst Mike pads around the room naked, packing his bag. Their flight doesn't leave for their honeymoon until that evening but there's shit strewn all over the room and it was starting to drive him insane. He bends over to pick up a shoe and Chester cocks his head to get a better view.

"Mike?"

"Mmm?"

"What would you do if I wanted to start hormone therapy?"

Mike drops the shoe and straightens up. "You mean, the way the doctor talked about? For the...the uh...reassignment?"

Chester nods.

"Could I...put some pants on before we have this discussion?" Mike asks, a little bit stunned. He grabs his shorts from the floor next to his bag and pulls them on, shuffling over to the bed. "I'd...have you thought about it? It's a long process, Chaz, that's what the doctor said. You have to live like that for a year before you can have the operation, just to make sure. And all those pills..."

"I know," Chester sighs, sitting up. "I know all that. But I feel like I'm constantly in limbo. I'm not one thing or another I'm just...nothing."

"Don't say that. You know how much I hate when you talk about yourself like this. And I remember you once told me that I'd understand this eventually, when I asked what I should call you when you're a girl. And now I do understand. I do. I understand that gender isn't what you look like it's a state of mind. And it's fluid. And I'll stand by you no matter what you choose, I just think you should really think about this. It's a big decision to make."

"So was proposing to you, but I still did it."

Mike smiles, reaches out to stroke Chester's face gently. "Okay, ask me again."

"What would you do if I wanted to start hormone therapy?" Chester asks, quietly. He chews his lip ring, anxiously, his eyes darting back and forth between Mike's.

"I'd be there to support you, every step of the way," Mike says, "because I love you."

Chester beams, grins from ear to ear. Maybe he won't go through hormone therapy, or maybe he will. It makes no difference either way because Mike has visions of them huddling in changing rooms of high-end stores tearing repairable holes in expensive dresses together and that's all that matters.

"Wait," Mike says, "does this mean we're gonna spend a lot more time mending broken seams and zippers?"

"Maybe?"

"Okay," Mike says. "I better learn to sew, then?"

Chester laughs, pulls Mike against him and pushes him down onto the mattress and fucks him until it is time to check out of the hotel.


End file.
